


The Case of the Missing Shirt

by sharkle



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Genre: F/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkle/pseuds/sharkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Annabeth's departure to San Francisco to see her dad, Percy has trouble finding his shirt. Somehow he gets the feeling this has something to do with her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Missing Shirt

Percy closed the door behind him, smile fading a little as he stepped out into the hall with Annabeth. He took her hand and they began to walk toward the elevator.

"Gods, I'm going to miss you," he said quietly.

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear – something she did when she was nervous, he'd learned. "I know," she said. "But it's only a few days, and then I'll be back." Her smile seemed a little tight and she gripped the strap on her bag as she spoke.

He heaved an over-dramatic sigh. "All the way across the country, though!" he groaned. "Sometimes I hate your dad."

Despite knowing that he was joking, she scowled and smacked his arm. He winced.

"That was fake!" she said accusingly.

"No, it wasn't!" he said. "I think it's a habit because of all the times you used to hit me."

He swore suddenly and ducked another swing that he wouldn't have felt, then laughed and pulled Annabeth into his arms before she could continue to try to beat him up. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I wish I could at least come to the airport with you," he mumbled. "I don't like the idea of you getting on a plane – _thousands of feet in the air_ – all alone."

Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed her forehead against his. "I'm a big girl, Percy, I can take care of myself."

Percy's face was dark, shadowed. "What if Zeus zaps you out of the sky just to spite me?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "You saved all of Olympus, Seaweed Brain," she said, and her voice held the same undercurrent of haunting, of ghosts of the past summer, of not-yet-forgotten horrors as his eyes. "He'll be leaving you alone for at least another year."

He gave a weak chuckle. "That's reassuring."

"I think you're just afraid of flying."

"I am not!"

He spun her away from him so that she shrieked; he took a couple steps after her, grabbing her again at the exact moment she slammed the elevator button.

"Percy, let me go!" said Annabeth, struggling between his body (pressed against hers) and the elevator doors.

Her gaze met his. His breath was hot on her neck. He pinned her wrists down on either side of her head. "I wouldn't fight if I were you," he murmured in her ear, almost animal. "It's not wise."

Annabeth's heart skipped several beats. Trying not to show him the effect he had on her, she swallowed, whispered, "You're right." Fingers slid across skin until she found the small of his back, and he shivered. With a smirk: "For once."

A fraction of a pause –

Then his lips were crushed to hers, his hands traveling down her arms to remain on her hips; hers fisted in his hair, clutching at his shoulders, down his back again until she found his weak spot – his body was so flush with hers that they almost shared the shudder –

The elevator doors opened.

Annabeth fell back, grabbing for Percy's shirt to keep her balance but instead succeeding only in pulling him on top of her with more force. Percy caught himself so that he didn't fall on top of her, his arms propping him up. Her hands were still wrapped in the front of his shirt.

"Oops!" he said cheerfully.

He rolled off of her and they both started to laugh, holding their sides, rocking back and forth, losing the little breath they'd regained after the passionate kiss.

Finally, Percy jumped to his feet, offering Annabeth a hand that she used to pull herself up. She then collected her bag, which she had (apparently) dropped and was preventing the elevator doors from closing. Her face slightly red, she collected it.

Percy put his foot in front of the door, leaned against the side of it. As Annabeth reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, he caught her hand, and with his free one did it for her, caressing her face, tilting her chin up and kissing her again.

It definitely wasn't as long as the last one, or as heated; but all the same, it made Annabeth's eyes flutter shut and her knees went weak and she leaned into him, sighing against his mouth.

With, it seemed, a large amount of effort, they broke apart. They stared at each other for a moment, searching, gray and green, and finding exactly what they were looking for.

Percy stepped out of the way of the elevator. Annabeth pressed the button for the ground floor.

"Bye," she said softly.

He raised a hand in farewell.

"See you in a few days."

He nodded, smiling. "Stay safe."

Attempting to laugh: "I'll try."

The doors slid closed. Once he could hear it moving downward, he puffed out a breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, and spun on his heel, this time walking down the hall alone.

::

The next morning, Percy skipped breakfast (it was nearly lunchtime anyway) and showered, resolving to spend a quiet day at home, watching TV and, most likely, daydreaming about his girlfriend. What they would be doing today if she wasn't in San Francisco. What he would say to her when she got back. How they would spend the rest of the summer before school started up again. How much time they would spend together during the school year…

He turned the water off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and got out of the shower. He shook his head like a dog, sending water droplets flying, splattering the mirror and drying his hair much more quickly than it would have normally. He grinned at his reflection before leaving the bathroom to get dressed, wondering idly what part of the country Annabeth was flying over right now.

However, once he reached his room, he found himself faced with a dilemma. Though he searched and searched, looked and looked, nearly tearing his bedroom apart, even checking under his bed, in his underwear drawer, he couldn't find his favorite Camp Half-Blood shirt. He must have been looking for nearly a quarter of an hour when, disappointed, he gave up and threw on a different shirt instead.

It only struck him once he had a plate of Bagel Bites in the microwave how very odd it was that he couldn't find his camp T-shirt. He wore it often – usually once or twice a week – and he almost always knew where it was, whether that be on his bedroom floor or in the laundry. He didn't understand why he couldn't find it now.

He decided he'd ask his mom when she got home from work. Paul was spending the day at Goode, preparing early for the start of school, and anyway, he wouldn't know, and Percy wouldn't bother to ask.

But when he did pose the question to his mother later that day, she knew as little as he did.

"The last time I saw it, it was in your room," she said slowly. "Did you check the laundry?"

He had. It was nowhere to be seen.

::

Three days later, Percy was standing outside his apartment building. He still hadn't been able to find his shirt, and it was making him more agitated than he normally would have been while waiting for Annabeth's taxi to pull up, although she wouldn't arrive for at least another ten minutes, not counting traffic.

The shirt, he sometimes felt, was as much of an anchor to the demigod world as Annabeth was to the mortal world (the kind where you live, not the one where you're tricked by the Mist). There were nights when Percy woke up from a dream where Annabeth disappeared and Grover really was just some kid with a funny leg disease and Mr. Brunner was actually confined to a wheelchair… On those nights, Percy scrambled to find his the orange shirt, felt for Riptide and uncapped it, letting the glowing bronze sword illuminate the words _Camp Half-Blood_ – and he would know it was all real. Not just a dream.

Even so, there were times when he wondered whether or not he was going to wake up in an insane asylum.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he paced. Every cab he saw pass on the street made him look up hopefully, which was saying something, because there were quite a fair amount of taxis in New York.

"Longest ten minutes of my _life_ ," he muttered to no one in particular.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a taxi screeched to a halt beside the curb. Percy jumped, turned, then, grinning, dashed to the door of the cab just as it opened – it hit him in the head but he felt nothing – Annabeth could barely gasp an apology before Percy yanked her out into the daylight, spinning her around once and making her squeal. He set her back down on her feet and they smiled at each other for just a heartbeat; he cupped Annabeth's face in his hands and kissed her, feeling, as he always did, that it warmed him up better than nectar or ambrosia ever could.

They broke the kiss and hugged. "I missed you," he said into her hair.

"I missed you, too," she whispered, and Percy felt all the tenseness that had trailed him since her departure leave him, his body relaxing with the knowledge that she was safe in his arms, in one piece.

Annabeth pulled her head out of his shoulder and looked at him.

"No monsters?" he asked her.

"No monsters," she confirmed, nodding, still sounding slightly surprised by it.

He smirked. "Scared 'em all off, huh?"

Eyebrows raised, arms crossed over her chest maybe a little bit more than necessary: "Perseus Jackson, what exactly are you insinuating? That I'm so ugly even monsters can't look at me?"

"Of course not!" he said, raising his hands defensively. "You're beautiful. I just meant that they know by now to be intimidated by you."

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks slightly pink, giving him a grudging smile. "A lesson _you_ , apparently, still haven't learned." She walked to the trunk of the taxi and heaved out her regular bag and a suitcase that Percy took from her and placed on the sidewalk. It took a moment, after she slammed the trunk closed, for him to register what she was wearing.

He stopped dead.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," he said.

Annabeth was wearing his Camp Half-Blood shirt. She had tied it back, but he could tell that it would hang overlarge on her lithe frame when it was untied, and he could see where it was ripped and frayed at the edges from his adventures at camp.

"What?" she said, her lips quivering: She was trying not to laugh.

"That's my T-shirt!"

"No, it's not," she lied.

"Yeah, it is!" He grabbed the shoulder of the right sleeve, where there was a considerable hole. "This is from the time Will almost took my head off in capture the flag! And that" – he pointed at the singed bottom hem – "is from the time the lava almost caught up with me on the climbing wall! And here…"

Percy began to turn her to examine the shirt more thoroughly, but Annabeth fended off his hand. "All right, all right!" she said. "I stole your shirt."

Triumphant: "I was right!" Confused: "Why?"

She mumbled something unintelligible.

"What?"

She sighed. "Well… maybe I was a little scared of getting on the plane." Then, added hurriedly at the look on his face, "But just a little!"

"Uh-huh," he said, and pulled her to his chest. "You could've just asked to borrow it, Wise Girl."

Annabeth smacked him.

"Ow!"

"Oh, that didn't hurt," she said dismissively, knowing it was true, and over his untrue, "Yes, it did!" she remarked, "That nickname really is stupid."

"Whatever," grumbled Percy, releasing her and picking up her suitcase. "I just want my shirt back."

By the sudden spark in her eyes, he could tell what he'd just said was as dangerous as handing her a dagger.

"When do you want it?" she asked, gray eyes wide, innocent. "Should I take it off now, or…?"

Her gaze lingered on his dropped jaw, obviously enjoying watching his face reflect the images his brain projected – then, with a small growl, he hefted the suitcase off of his foot and followed her, itching to get his hands on her waist (among other places).

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this, I was under the impression that The Lost Hero occurred the year AFTER The Last Olympian, so I guess this is AU now. Just a little.


End file.
